


When A Resistible Force Meets A Moveable Object

by PepperF



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are fine, really. The kissing is just an aberration. WAS. WAS an aberration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I have a powerful need for them to kiss, right now.
> 
> Huge thanks to drunkencarp for the beta, but for whom this (and Jeff in particular) would be a lot poorer! :)

::six::

Annie has decided: this semester is going to be a success. It's going to be productive, it's going to be peaceful, and it is NOT going to have any of the usual Greendale craziness. At the end, she'll have passed all her classes with top or near-top marks, and everyone will still be good friends. It's all going to go smoothly. She's visualizing it. She can see it. It is going to work. Nothing is going to go wrong. There will be absolutely no problems.

Except possibly the kissing.

No, no, that was just a lapse (a few lapses) of judgment and won't affect anything. They weren't important. They were minor misdemeanors, an easy mistake to make. This semester is going to be perfect, and anything that isn't perfect is just going to have to – to shape up or ship out. She has a good group of friends, close friends, an unstoppable team of friends, and so what if maybe sometimes she kisses one of those friends? So very much what? They can get through anything, they've proven that time and again, and a mere kiss (or kisses) is nothing in the grand scheme of things. After all, they've survived much greater relationship hiccups, it was only to be expected in a group of unrelated adults with nothing to stop any one of them from looking at any of the others as a sexual prospect. Not that she is going to have sex with him! It's just kissing! And besides which, they've basically stopped doing it. It hasn't happened for nearly a week (four days and three hours), now, so it's over. 

Probably.

No, definitely. Definitely over. Finished. The temporary kissing lapse has passed, and just because a certain person keeps looking at her, that doesn't mean anything. He looks at her – so what? He looks at everyone, when he's not busy staring at his phone. It's called social interaction. It means nothing. She isn't going to read into things. And really, he'd looked terrified, after that first kiss (well, technically it was their third kiss, but the other two had been so long ago who even remembered them?), so isn't that a sign that it's a mistake? Yes. Yes, it is. And she is not dwelling. She's not thinking about the softness of his lips or the taste of scotch on his tongue (which brings up a whole separate concern that she's also not thinking about right now but that can't be ignored forever) or the frantic way he'd clutched her close. She might permit herself to think of the way he pushed her away, though, and the panic in his eyes when he stepped back. He'd basically grabbed the first excuse to flee the scene, after that. That's a good reminder of why a) it's a bad idea, and b) it doesn't mean what she'd once wanted it to mean, although b1) it doesn't matter anyway because she moved past that long ago.

And okay, so, well, after the first time they kissed (the evening after Chang's amazing – dammit – performance), he'd not looked terrified. No, the second time (kitchen, her apartment, post-party clean-up) he'd looked, well, kind of teeth-gritted and resolute and maybe a bit annoyed, and the third time (his office, middle of the day, she'd popped in to lend him a book) he been all kind of… ooh… confident and stuff – but that doesn't mean that he's changed his previous firmly-stated position and suddenly wants it to mean something or go somewhere. It just means… what? It means WHAT?

NO. No, she doesn't care. She isn't going to confront him about it, this time. She isn't going to fall into that same old trap. Because it doesn't matter, it's just a meaningless lapse, and it's not going to happen again, and she has better things to think about because this semester is going to be perfect and nothing is going to spoi—

"Annie?"

She jumps, and maybe shrieks a little. Looking around wildly, she realizes the rest of the group has gone. Only Jeff is left, and he's standing by the desk, staring at her oddly (hah! He has some nerve to imply that SHE'S the one acting weird!). 

"Everyone left. You kinda zoned out, huh?" He gives her that crooked smile that absolutely does not make her heart beat a little faster every damn time. "Something on your mind?"

Is that… innuendo-ish? Is he innuendoing at her? Ugh, this is going to drive her crazy – and she's been crazy, so she knows whereof she speaks. "No," she says, as she slams her binder closed and stands up. "Should there be?"

"Uh, no. I mean…" He looks down, and then up, looking hopeful and bashful and nervous and smug, all at once. "Not unless you want there to be."

Annie stares at him for a long, long moment, trying to work out what he's playing at. "GAH," she concludes, throwing up her hands. "You know what? I'm not doing this." She slings her bag over her shoulder and grabs her books, tucking them into the crook of her arm. "I'm not playing this game, Jeff, because I just want to get through this semester like a normal person at a normal school and—" Wow, he's standing close, all of a sudden. "—not get involved in any of the usual study group DRAMA, because I don't have the time, I need to focus and…" She trails off. He's looking at her with this odd, intent-but-distracted look, as though he's focused exclusively on her and yet hasn't heard a word she's said.

"I'm not playing games, Annie." Or maybe he has. "This is me being honest for once."

What? What does that even MEAN?

But then he reaches out to stroke his fingers through her hair, ending with his hand gently cupping her jaw, and her mind? Goes totally blank. His other hand calmly takes her books and puts them on the table, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he unhooks her bag from her shoulder, and drops it on top of the books.

"Unless you have any objections, I'm going to kiss you now," he warns her, his voice warm and soft and low.

"Mnuh," she breathes, very coherently.

And then he's… oh… and then… ohhhh…

Damn it, it's happening AGAIN.

\---

::two::

Wait. Stop. Rewind. 

Jeff pushes Annie away from him, back against her car – which, given that he'd pulled her close in the first place, is maybe a bit rude, but he's kind of panicking? Noise spills out from behind them as the bar door opens and closes, and they both glance back, but it's a stranger, who pays them no notice. Nevertheless, Jeff pulls his hands away from Annie, and runs them through his hair. "Crap, Annie, I—"

He's not sure where he's going with this. He doesn't actually regret kissing her – he's wanted to do it since forever – but he's been telling himself for so long that he shouldn't that the instinct to feel guilty is automatic. He does regret doing it without some kind of plan in place, but it had just felt so natural. All evening he's had this happiness bubbling in his veins that had nothing to do with the alcohol he'd consumed, and everything to do with her little "Milord", and the way she smiled and took his arm... and ugh, could he sound any more like a teenager? But then, it's their little call-and-response thing, and it's significant that she actually responded for the first time in years, right? It has to be significant. So when he walked her out to her car, and she turned to him to say goodnight, he hadn't even thought about it – he'd just leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, like it’s something he always does.

She'd responded to that, too – boy howdy had she responded. Like every time, the moment they touch all bets are off and all considerations of age and location and audience and responsibility go straight out the window. From the start, there was never anything about kissing her that signaled to him, 'hey, you're kissing a teenager, maybe you should stop?'. No, she always kisses with confidence, like a woman who knows what she's doing and what she wants – and, god help him, it's so freaking HOT.

And now, of course, she's not a teenager. She's also not with anyone, or on the rebound, and he's not just fled from two (count them, two) public declarations of love, and they're not in front of an audience of a hundred students, three judges, and a creepy-ass mascot. They're both adults, friends who care about each other and have some crazy chemistry...

But. BUT. Does she even want this? Does he? Because this can't just be a fling, not with her, not with Annie, not with all their history and their friends and the way they've finally fought their way to some kind of equilibrium at last. It's all or nothing, and shit, she's still staring at him, and he's still not worked out what he wants to say.

"Annie, I—" And of course, this is when his phone goes. He glances down at it, and crap, he genuinely does need to take this; it's his mother and she never calls him at this time of night. "Crap, I have to take this. It's my mom. This is not me making excuses." He looks at her, willing her to believe him, but she just smiles tiredly. "Annie—"

"Go on," she says. "Take your call. I'll see you tomorrow."

He narrows his eyes at her, but his phone buzzes again, and there's no time, so he presses 'accept' and puts it to his ear as he turns away. "Mom?"

"Jeffrey? Oh, thank goodness you answered, I wasn't sure if you'd still be awake – your aunt had a bad fall, she's in hospital…"

As she continues talking, he glances up, but Annie's already in her car. She gives him a friendly wave as she pulls away.

Crap.


	2. Chapter 2

::three::

He kind of expected they'd leave it there, forget about it again. However.

However.

Look, he thought he'd be over this by now. He thought it was this thing, this stupid, temporary lust thing because she was young and pretty and off-limits, and it would die away naturally as he got to know her better and found out she's just like any other woman. But it never did die away. And she gradually grew up and became less off-limits and still just as pretty (gorgeous, really), and didn't go and find the love of her life, or suddenly find fame and fortune when the world got its act together and realized exactly how desperately it needed her, as he'd kind of expected. No, she was still here, still his friend… and it was still THERE.

He's heard it said that alcoholics never really become former alcoholics, even when they've kicked the addition for forty years – they're just alcoholics who've not had a drink in forty years. He thinks he's beginning to understand (and not about the alcohol part, they can all just shut up about that, it's really not all that bad).

He's not sure where that leaves him, except that he feels frustrated by the whole goddamn situation. He wants to kiss her and have it mean nothing, and he wants to kiss her and have it mean everything, and he wants to not want to kiss her, all at once. And, you know, he wants her naked in his bed, and to kiss her all over from the toes up, and lick her until she screams his name, and then fuck her until they both can't walk. That too.

And now he's just going to stay here in this nice, quiet kitchen until his raging boner goes away, thank you very much.

"Jeff?"

FUCK. Annie. Of course it is. "What?" he snaps, not in the mood to be reasonable.

There's a pause. He's not turning around, though. "Well, I was going to ask if you were done in here, but now I'm going to ask if you're okay," she says.

"I'm pretty much done," he says, ignoring the second part. "Just taking a break before I load the dishwasher." He waves his bottle of beer at the counter beside him, which is covered with glasses. He'd been put on kitchen clean-up duty due to some misdemeanor he's forgotten, and for a moment he lets himself reminisce about a time when he'd faked an illness so he didn't have to help her move house, or hell, the time he'd refused to turn up to her stupid, boring party just because he didn't want to go. Whatever happened to that guy? He kind of misses him sometimes.

Well, that guy was an asshole who hated himself and wouldn't let his friends into his heart, of course, but still, he didn't have to clean people's kitchens after a party, so there were compensations.

"And the okay part?"

He risks a glance downwards. "Just about," he hazards.

And then she must have moved across the room like a freaking ninja or something, because a hand touches his back, and he jumps like a fucking girl and elbows a stack of glasses onto the floor with a gigantic crash. Annie gasps. "Jeff!"

"Crap. CRAP." Dammit, that was like the opposite of smooth. He turns around (he's pretty much SFW now), and of course she's wearing some of those cute little fuzzy bedsocks that she loves, in bright pink, which is why he didn't hear her, and why she's now stuck in the middle of a glass-strewn floor. "Sorry. In my defense, they were stacked right on the..." He catches her glare. "Never mind. Uh, dustpan?"

"Cupboard under the sink," she says, pointing. 

"Okay. Stay there." She rolls her eyes at him.

He crunches across the room – god, that's a lot of glass – and grabs the dustpan and a roll of trash bags. He quickly sweeps up most of the bigger chunks and double-bags them, but it's going to need vacuuming and mopping before it's safe. He eyes her, still frozen in the center of the small room in her fluffy pink socks. He puts down the dustpan, and brushes off his hands, and then bends down in front of her. "Hold on," he instructs, and grabs her around her thighs, just under her ass, lifting her off the floor. She squeaks, and clutches his shoulders, tipping forwards dangerously for a moment before they find their balance. "Can you stop... Right. Lift your feet."

"Oh. Good thinking."

She obliges, tipping up one foot and then the other, and he carefully pulls off each sock, wary of rogue glass shards, and drops them on the floor. She has pink fluff between her toes and she's so freaking adorable, and she's warm and she smells good and she's so close. Pierce and Eartha Kitt in an airplane bathroom, he tells himself firmly, and walks her over to the doorway.

She slides down his body as he puts her down, and he closes his eyes, cursing a god in whom he may or may not be prepared to believe. And then she grins at him, and leans closer. "You're such a spaz sometimes," she whispers fondly, and kisses his cheek, and that's it. That's the last straw. He's done trying to be good.

He kisses her. Properly. With tongue.

And because this is the kind of day he's having, five seconds later, the front door crashes open and Abed and Britta come in, arguing loudly about pretzels.

They shut up when he stomps past them and heads for the open door. 

"Where are you going in such a rush?" asks Britta.

"I'm making a dramatic exit," he explains through his teeth.

"Oh, okay," says Abed, equitably. "But is the kitchen clean? We want to make breakfast."

He slams the door behind him.

\---

::four::

So, okay, until now, he's been focusing pretty much on his own feelings. But what about her? He's kissed her 200% more in the last week and a half than he had in the four years previously – how is she reacting?

When he covertly observes her, he realizes that she's actually taking it pretty well. Almost as if she's unaffected, in fact. She's her usual self at school – bright, focused, cheerful. She's a lot more laid-back nowadays, and it's completely charming (if, in his presently distracted state, kind of annoying too). She teases and conspires with him, she has her in-jokes and scuffles with Abed and Britta, she's building friendships with Elroy and Frankie... it's all so goddamn normal that he wants to shake her. Is she somehow blind to the fact that their relationship is undergoing some seismic shifting at the moment, and if not, is she acting like everything's normal on purpose, to throw him off balance? What's her angle?

Like an idiot, he broods about it. And one lunchtime he's so wrapped up in his thoughts of _why isn't she freaking out?_ and _why am I freaking out?_ and _how do I make sure no one sees that I'm freaking out?_ that he doesn't even notice that he's started touching her.

Not inappropriate touching – nothing like that. She's sat opposite him, with her hand laid out flat on the table, and somehow he's unconsciously started to trace little arches up from the tips of her fingers to her knuckles, going slowly along the line from index to little finger and back again. He only realizes he's doing it when her breath catches, and he finally comes out of his own thoughts enough to wonder why she's blushing, and oh. Yeah. That.

He snatches his hand back and glances around, but the others haven't joined them yet, so there's no one to notice his odd behavior. Annie slides her hand away, and she's still blushing furiously. He looks sideways at her, but she looks away and won't meet his eyes. 

Hmm.

Maybe she's not as unaffected as he'd thought.

He dwells on that happy notion instead, and once he realizes how much better he feels, now he's sure she's not bizarrely forgotten that he kissed her or something (seriously, why had he even considered that as a possibility, there is NO WAY she could have forgotten him), he can't shake the temptation to push it just a little. He doesn't do anything deliberately, but they're friends and they spend a lot of time around one another. So let the dice fall where they will.

\---

::five::

A couple of days later he's in his office, and she's dropped by to bring him a book she keeps insisting he'll love (he feigns disinterest but he'll read it anyway because she's usually right). He hasn't actually registered that the door is closed and they're alone together, because he's just finished class and the students were particularly argumentative today, and it was so much goddamn fun he didn't even finish his scotch. It was almost like being back in a courtroom, but without the slow, layer by layer patina of evil on his soul. He's pacing back and forth, waving his hands as he explains all the ways in which his students were wrong – but they almost had him on the ropes once or twice, and he actually had to exert himself to keep ahead of them. It was exhilarating. When he's done with this class they'll know all his dirty tricks and how to beat them.

Well, maybe not ALL his dirty tricks – he has so very many, after all, and he comes up with new ones all the time, it's his superpower – but they'll have a good grounding in how to handle a normal, not-Tango-level-of-awesome defense lawyer. 

Annie is perched on his desk, turning his glass cube paperweight over and smiling as she listens to him go on, occasionally offering subtle counterarguments that had occurred to no one else. She could talk circles around any of his students without breaking a sweat, and he kind of wishes she'd stayed in his class, because arguing with Annie Edison is one of his favorite pastimes. On the other hand, that would make things a bit weird between them, with all this kissing that's going on. He was okay with it with Michelle, when he was on the supposedly weaker side of the equation, but this way around (older male teacher, pretty young co-ed) tips things in a direction that makes his skin crawl. Annie is perfectly capable of standing up for herself, of course, and in fact of turning her supposed position of weakness into an advantage, but nevertheless, no. He's just going to have to argue with her in his free time.

"I might even teach them the basics of how to make a Winger Speech," he muses, bending to slide his copy of the _Colorado Legislative Council: Civil Law (2013 ed.)_ back onto a bottom shelf. It's amazing how many of his law books have made their way to this office, so it takes a bit of jiggling before he can fit it in. He glances back at Annie to make some further remark, and... is she staring at his ass? She is! She has her head tilted, and a dreamy expression on her face.

WELL, then. He knew these jeans were a good purchase.

He straightens, and she looks away quickly, covering with a quick chuckle. "Oh, I don't know, that might be a little dangerous, don't you think – releasing lots of little Jeff Wingers on the world?"

He feels a sudden and absurd need to stretch and flex for her like some knuckle-walking teenage jock, but he quashes it. No, he can be smoother than that. He's got moves, baby – he's got moves like she's never dreamed. He smirks at her, and shakes his head. "Oh, Annie – you know they'll never match up to me." He saunters towards her, turning the Winger charm on, full force. "What I can do, you can't find in books, or learn in class." He plucks the glass cube from her grasp, and turns it in his hand, holding her gaze. "Some people call it charisma, some call it charm, some call it sheer sexual magnetism. Some people don't call it anything because they've come too close and have lost the ability to form words." He leans a little closer.

Her cheeks are pink, but she gives an epic eyeroll, nevertheless. "Some people call it egomania," she suggests, dryly.

He gives her a slow smile, and then holds out the paperweight to her again. She automatically reaches out to take it, but he hangs on to it, following when she pulls and letting her draw him in closer. "Jealous people," he informs her, his voice a teasing rumble.

Her eyes are huge, vulnerable. She's not backing away, but her voice is soft and uncertain. "Jeff, what are you doing?"

She lets go of the paperweight, and he leans past her to set it down on the desk, turning his head so her lips almost brush his cheek. Now they're only a whisper apart. He lets his eyes drop to her lips and back. This close, he can see her pupils expand. Knowing he can affect her like this... it's intoxicating.

"I would've thought it was obvious," he murmurs – and his eyes slide shut as he closes the gap.

As their lips touch, she gives a little whimper, and sways into him, clutching his biceps. In return, he sinks one hand into her hair and his tongue into her mouth. He wraps the other arm around her waist, stepping into her and crowding her against the desk. Whatever her misgivings, she seems willing to lose herself in the give and take, the warmth of their bodies and the breathless slide of their mouths, and for a few timeless minutes they simply make out in a way he's not experienced since he was a teenager. He's not thinking about taking it further – he's not thinking at all, in fact. He's just feeling – and it feels so, so good.

Eventually, he becomes aware that she's slowing it down, and he follows her wordless directions, too blissfully dazed to resist. She moves back, and he automatically follows, finding her lips again. She allows it, but when she moves back again and he tries to follow, she puts gentle pressure on his arms, holding him still, and he finally gets the picture. He opens his eyes, and god, she's so beautiful, and his desk is looking pretty damn comfortable right now... She smiles gently, and he sways towards her, caught in the gravitational pull of her lips, but she only allows him a peck. When she pushes him back again, he grumbles something wordless. Her smile turns amused.

"Jeff, are you with me? You look like you've been drugged."

"Mm-hmm." How did they get to this point, anyhow? He must've done something right. Now if only he could remember what it was, and repeat it...

Annie sighs, and slides off the desk. She gives him a brisk, friendly kiss on the cheek. "Oh Jeff, what am I supposed to do with you?" she asks, not waiting for a response. "You've got a class in five minutes, so I'll see you later."

"Huh?"

She's gone before he can get his shit together.


	3. Chapter 3

::seven::

He may not be the world's most emotionally-intelligent man (he's working on it), but even he can see that they need to talk about this. And although it can be dangerous trying to guess at which way Annie will jump, he feels pretty confident that he doesn't need to worry about rejection. He can hardly blame her: he is pretty irresistible. But in the spirit of making sure, he leaves it a while, watching for her reaction – and Annie gets noticeably antsy as the week goes on. Frustrated, one might say – and Jeff begins to feel a little smug. It's worth the cold showers he needs to take, for the moments when Annie breathes in sharply as he reaches around her in the lunch queue, or loses her thread when he lets his gaze linger on her a little too long. Yeah, she is warm for his form.

He spends a weekend running circuits round his local park and contemplating the future. Can he really do this? If they do give it a try, will he freak out and ruin everything when it starts to feel too real? Well, there's a good chance of that, he has to admit. But he's starting to think that the other option might just end up with everyone else leaving and him drinking himself into an early grave. Then he worries, is he just going after Annie because she's a safe bet and he's afraid of the alternative? Again, it's a possibility – cf. his disastrous proposal to Britta. But he never felt this way about Britta. Sure, he loves her – she's flawed and awesome and fun, and annoying as hell, and one of his best friends. But when he looks at Annie, it's like…

He realizes he's drifted to a stop in the middle of the park, halfway through a circuit, and is staring into space, picturing Annie smiling at him. See? This is what she does to him! He's practically doodling her name in hearts on his notebook! And, what's worse, he can't even bring himself to resent that she's reduced him to this sappy, lovesick mess of a human being. It's disgusting.

Grinning, he gets on with his run.

So when she's distracted all through their meeting on Monday, he takes it upon himself to hang around afterwards and make sure she's okay. Really, as her friend, could he be expected to do any less? And when she gets so adorably flustered that he just has to kiss her again, he's beginning to think they're on the same page.

This is further proven the next day, when she sits in on his class. He finds it impossible to focus when, every time he looks up, her steady gaze is on him, and all of those schoolgirl fantasies – the ones he'd repressed long ago when he first got to know Annie because they felt crass and dirty in the wrong kind of way – have come rushing back. Somehow he makes it through the hour without saying or doing anything too inappropriate, but if his students actually learn anything, it's purely by chance.

When at last the bell rings and everyone rushes out – barely even listening to his halfhearted "And read a chapter or something!" – she stays behind. She is slowly picking up her stuff and watching him from the corner of her eye. Jeff occupies himself with rearranging the paperclips on his desk into penis shapes. The moment the door closes on the last student, he's up and out of his seat, crossing the gap between them in two rapid strides. She throws down her notebook and turns to meet him as he crashes into her, picking her up and propelling her back onto her desk as he practically attacks her mouth. He's not sure the desk is sturdy enough to take even her weight, let alone his, but fuck it, she's wrapping her arms and legs around him to hold him in place, and he seriously doesn't care if this ends in a hospital visit.

Time passes in a warm, hazy blur, and then another bell is ringing, and crap, they're going to get caught. He leans back, and is pleased to realize that she's not even heard it, if the distracted look in her eyes is anything to go by. She focuses again – but it's on him, and her arms tighten, pulling him close… "Whoa, whoa," he says, and drags them both upright, startled to find her shirt untucked and half unbuttoned. When had he done that – and more importantly, when can he get a proper viewing of this bra? Because damn... "Um, hey." With an effort, he gathers his scattered thoughts. "Students," he manages.

Fortunately, she's quick to catch on, and she glances at the clock, and then swears under her breath. She begins to re-button her shirt, and this in turn lets him get his brain back under control. He pushes himself away from her (the desk creaks alarmingly, and they're definitely lucky this didn't end badly), and stumbles back to sit behind his desk again, because there's inappropriate and INAPPROPRIATE, and he's currently in the latter state.

The door slams open just as Annie hops off the desk. She gives him a frustrated look, one which he returns wholeheartedly, and slips away against the flood of incoming students. As his class settles into their seats, he glares at them with more than the usual level of resentment. Why do they torment him? Why can't they just leave him alone? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

He grabs a DVD box off his desk, and chucks it to the nearest front-row student. "Okay class: we're watching Planet Earth. Yaaaaay." He ignores their collective groans. It serves them right.

\---

::eight::

He manages to hold out for two more days before losing it altogether. It's a miracle he lasts even that long, because he can't look at her without the risk of forgetting where they are and who else is around, and just acting on his desires. So they're walking… somewhere… for some reason he can't quite recall right now… in silence, because the tension between them is too thick. He's counting hallway doors, probably looking a little wild-eyed, and that's when he sees it: a door labelled STORAGE.

His hindbrain takes over. He glances around – pointlessly, because he doesn't really care if people are watching them, he's still going to do this – and then grabs her elbow with one hand and the door handle with the other, and propels her through in front of him. When the door shuts behind him, it leaves them in the dark, in one of Greendale's large walk-in storage areas. He can hear her rapid breathing. He yanks the handle upright, which locks it (he learned that particular quirk of the door mechanisms years ago, one of the few things he didn't share with his study group because half the time they were the people he was hiding from), and reaches out a hand. It finds hers, and their fingers tangle together. A feeling shoots through him so forcefully that, for a long moment, he can hardly breathe.

He loves her. Maybe it really is that simple.

He opens his mouth to tell her so, but the words get stuck in his throat, and then she moves forward into his arms, so he tries to convey it all in a kiss instead. It's slow and sweet, and not at all where he thought this was headed when he dragged her in here, but something about it makes him feel fuzzy and warm and content. It's an amazing feeling – like a combination of good scotch, those extra-strong anti-anxiety meds, and the aftermath of really good sex before the urge to leave kicks in. He marvels at the power of it (and wonders briefly whether she's drugged her lipgloss. He wouldn't be completely surprised). She sighs happily against his lips, and oh yeah, there's the lust again.

He hauls her up against him, and really, they ought to try this on a couch or a bed (please, please, PLEASE) sometime soon, because it's getting kind of ridiculous. But then she's trying to climb him like a tree, and whatever, it's a great workout for his arms and they should totally keep doing it. He presses her into the door and swallows her groan, and wonders, on a scale of new!Jeff to original flavor!Jeff, exactly how skeezy it would be to fuck her in a storage closet right now. Does the fact that he's head over heels for her make it more or less acceptable? Exactly how much would Shirley want to baptize him?

He stops worrying about that, though, because Annie is feverishly enthusiastic, and clearly all this tension has been driving her crazy, too. He wonders if she's been as distracted and useless in school as he's been, if she's been thinking about him the way he's been thinking about her, if he's made her hot, made her want, made her just have to touch herself – and the idea makes him groan, and then it makes him want to drive her even crazier. So he pins her up against the door with his hips, and goes to town.

He nibbles and licks his way down her neck until she's panting and making little high-pitched whining noises, and then sinks his teeth into the angle of her neck. Meanwhile, his hands are busy, stroking up her sides, down her back, around the delicious curve of her hips, teasing at the edges of where he'd really like to go. Her hands are fluttery and restless, clutching at his back, stroking the nape of his neck and into his hairline, twitching whenever he does something she particularly likes. He notes what makes her pull him close, what makes her twitch away because it tickles, and one spot on her clavicle that, when bitten, makes her moan his name aloud. He takes careful note of that bit.

When he notices one of her hands fumbling at his shirt buttons, he grabs it and pushes it away. "No, no, no," he pants. "Not allowed."

"Jeff," she protests. He's proof against her whine, but he's probably lucky it's dark in here and he can't see her doing the eyes. He's not sure why, but he's determined to make this all about her. For the life of him, he couldn't say whether it was about trying to do something unselfish, or about their eternal struggle for supremacy. There's definitely a part of him that sees this as a contest, winner being the one to stay in control – and another part that just wants to do anything and everything to please her. Anyhow, a grubby storage closet is no place to take off clothes – this is a really nice shirt.

With that in mind, he slides a hand down to cup her breast through her blouse, which serves as a wonderful distraction for the both of them. God, if she had idea how regularly and for how long her breasts have featured in his fantasies, she'd probably disown him. He squeezes, thumbing her nipple, and she moans and tosses her head back.

Bed. He needs to take her to bed. Soon.

He's pushing up against her like a horny teenager, but it's not like she's any more dignified; she's grinding down against him with impressive gymnastic ability given her position, and a part of his brain remembers that she used to be a cheerleader, and oh god, SHUT UP BRAIN. So he slides the hand down further, brazenly going for what he wants, and he barely brushes her, over her pants and everything, and she's shuddering against him with a small cry. Amazed, he keeps his fingers in place until her forehead drops against his shoulder, and then he wraps both arms tightly around her.

"Did you just—"

"Mm-hm." She sounds a little embarrassed.

"Wow. That's..." He has to close his eyes. "So hot," he breathes.

She's quiet. "Yeah?" she finally asks, in an uncertain voice.

"Well, yeah, DUH." He smirks into her hair. "I knew it. You're totally hot for me."

She laughs breathlessly. "Duh," she responds, into his chest.

They stay wrapped up in each other for a while. His hard-on dies down, and she doesn't say anything or make any offers, for which he's grateful – not that he didn't want her touch (her hand, her mouth... god...), but this really isn't his ideal setting. He wants to do a lot of things with her, but he'd really rather they involved a bed and a lot more free time, and a lot fewer canisters of industrial mold killer. He would prefer his seduction to be softly lit and less like a scene from a cheap zombie horror flick, and maybe that's a sign that he's getting old – but he prefers to think it's because he wants to do it right.

\---

::nine::

After the Study Room Kiss Incident, which ends abruptly and unresolvedly when the cleaner arrives, there's a fast and heated incident the next day in his classroom between classes, which leaves her rumpled and frustrated, and a much longer incident two days later in the storage closet just by the second floor biology room that might best be described as heavy petting. Annie is no closer to unravelling the meaning of it all, but she's fast losing the will to care – because if they talk, then they might have to stop doing it, whatever 'it' is, and there had been a moment in that storage closet when nothing had mattered, not even her grades, so long as Jeff never stopped doing THAT.

This is building to something, and it's fairly obvious what. And so what if it's meaningless? Is that really so bad, when every atom of her body is craving it worse than she ever craved those little orange pills? After all, they are two consenting adults, and he's already proven that he can screw someone and still stay friends with them. So far, she's only really experienced the friendship part of a relationship with him, and she's quite willing to expand her Jeff-horizons a little.

Which is why, at just past 5pm on Friday, she's leaning against the wall outside his classroom, watching the students file out. Their teacher follows, and pauses when he sees her. A small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, and he jerks his head to the side. "Walk me back to my office?"

They fall into step comfortably, and walk down the hallway in silence for a while, as people rush past them, eager to escape. Annie stares down at their feet, noting the extreme difference in size between her neat heels and his big boots. He's taken to dressing more towards the lumberjack end of the scale lately, which only serves to enhance the effect. "Have you ever noticed," she muses, "that we have no problem keeping pace together? I mean, what with you being ridiculously tall and me being a normal height—"

"Hobbit-sized, you mean."

"—you'd think it'd be difficult. But it's not." She smiles up at him. "It's nice."

He grins back down at her. "Well, as I recall, we've always worked well together," he points out.

"I think it's because I walk with purpose, whereas you slouch along, taking it easy," she says. He gives a 'hmph'. "But somehow it works." She glances up at him through her lashes, and quirks her eyebrows. "You go slow," she says, "and I go fast, and we arrive at our destination... together."

They've reached his office. Jeff stops and stares down at her, his grin fading as though it's being burned away by the heat in his eyes. She leans back against the door, tucking a hand behind her back to play with the handle as she gazes up at him, wondering whether she's been too obvious, or not obvious enough. She bites her lip, and his eyes shoot to her mouth – and then she's turning the handle and he's pushing the door with a hand above her head, and they are in, and he's kicking the door shut behind them and dropping his books on the floor as they grab for each other in unison. 

Their mouths press together, and she finds herself being picked up and walked forward until he can drop her on his desk in an impressive display of blind coordination. Her feet can't reach the ground, but that doesn't matter because what she really wants to do is wrap her legs around his hips – and promptly does so, pulling him forward. He groans in response and pushes hard against her, restlessly changing the angle of their kiss and dropping one hand to her thigh, supporting and encouraging the move. She hums, glad she decided to wear a skirt today (it's probably best not to dwell on her thought processes as she laid out her outfit last night, but suffice it to say she's AWESOME at forward-planning).

He begins trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, and she leans back over the desk and closes her eyes, running her hands over his shoulders.

"Jeff," and oh, she's never said his name quite like that before, all breathy and wanting, "take me home?"


	4. Chapter 4

::ten::

It's a miracle they get to his place in one piece. From the moment she asked him to take her home, in that sweetly seductive voice, he's lost the ability to focus on anything but her. But here they are, and the door is closed, and he's walking her backwards towards his bedroom whilst her busy hands work on his shirt buttons. 

This is it, he figures. There can't be a better time to say it. And she knows already, he's pretty sure about that, so he doesn't need to be nervous, because she's not exactly turning him away right now. Still, his heart is beating a crazy, terrified rhythm, his palms are sweaty, and he can barely breathe past the knot in his throat. But then he pulls back and meets her eyes, and it's like all the drama fades away, and suddenly he's speaking without even a second thought. "I love you, Annie." Wow, who knew it could be that easy? He gives her a shaky, relieved smile, and briefly contemplates going for a high five.

And then everything goes horribly, horribly wrong. 

"What?" she snaps, and shoves him away. "WHAT did you say?"

He stares at her in dawning horror, feeling the smile drain off his face. She looks surprised – shocked, even – and oh, hey, look, is that all the ways in which he thought he'd grown and got some control over his life, flying back to smack him in the face? "I – I l-love you?" he repeats, and he's actually stammering, fucking hell. She stares at him, open-mouthed. "I thought – I mean, don't you...?" GOD, no, stop talking now. He can't ask her that – what's the point, when it looks like he's already got his answer. He's so utterly, wretchedly pathetic, and he can feel his soul shriveling under the heat of her disbelief.

"Do you mean to tell me THAT's what this has been about?"

He's going to die. Seriously. He is going to curl up and die, right now. "Yes?"

"Jeff!" She smacks him across the chest. "You asshole! I thought this was just about sex!"

The irony is not lost on him, and it's abruptly too much for him to handle, he can't stay there and watch his heart be crushed by the one person he thought was safe. He needs scotch, lots of scotch, and a great deal of distance from this situation. He doesn't want the hassle of kicking her out – the hell with it, she can have the apartment. "Okay. Right." He steps back. "I think we should—" He's across the room in a couple of bounds, barely even registering her yelp of protest, and grabs a bottle from his drinks shelf, and the car keys from the table.

He makes it two steps towards the door before she tackles him. Literally, tackles him. She weighs about half as much as he does, so it's the element of surprise that actually takes him down and sends keys and bottle skidding away across the floor, and then she sits on him and pins his hands. This means they're pressed chest to chest, and she's in his lap, and he can't do this, he absolutely cannot. do. this. "Get off," he growls. "If you don't let me go right now, swear to god, I'll sue."

"Jeff, you idiot," she snarls, and kisses him.

He resists for about two seconds, but he's always going to lose this particular fight with her, and in a flash he has his hands around her waist, and is pulling her down, moaning into her mouth. Fuck it, if all he's going to get from her is sex, at least it promises to be mind-blowing. He locks her in place with his arms, and rolls them, feeling the need to dominate and control the situation. He's going to make sure she never forgets this.

She goes with it for several blissful, oblivion-inducing seconds, but then she's pushing him back again, and seriously, seriously, he can't take this. He drops his head to her shoulder, panting, trembling with a combination of horniness and rage. "What NOW?"

"I am so pissed at you right now, Jeff Winger," she tells him. He closes his eyes and sighs, all the fight going out of him. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to hear what she's got to say, but it's probably fucking karma for everything he ever did to push her away. "I can't believe you thought this would just work out the way you wanted, as if I'd been waiting around for you since I was a teenager!" He cringes. "And I can't believe you were just going to run away and get drunk without giving me a chance to tell you that I LOVE YOU TOO, YOU MUSCULAR BUNDLE OF CONCEIT AND NEUROSES!"

Ugh, he should have…

…Wait, what?

"What?" He props himself up on his elbows, urgently needing to see her face. She lets him stare for a moment, and then hits him on the shoulder. Hard. "And ow. What did you just say?"

"If there were any justice in this world, I'd be telling you right now that I don't feel the same, thus validating your deep fear of rejection and your stupid knee-jerk reaction," she tells him, and then sighs. "But that would be a lie. And I'm so sick of pretending I'm not stupidly in love with you and have been for years."

Oh, wow. Wow. That is… wow. She loves him?

She rolls her eyes at the dopey expression he's currently wearing. "It doesn't mean I don't also want to kick your ass," she adds, warningly. "Seriously, you caved and ran at the first HINT of trouble. That's not good, Jeff."

"I know, I know. I'm working on it, I swear," he vows, dizzy with relief. "Just promise me you'll keep tackling me to the floor in the meanwhile? Please?"

"Okay. Okay. Just… don't make me do it too often, will you?" 

She lifts her eyebrows, and behind all the tough talk he can see a flash of her own deep-seated insecurities, and could kick himself. God, he's such an idiot! "You thought I just wanted to have sex with you?" he asks, hardly able to believe it. He thought he couldn't have been much more obvious if he'd tattooed 'I LOVE ANNIE EDISON' all over his body and done naked laps around the school.

"Well, yes! Why wouldn't I? You've never given me a reason to believe you'd want anything more – in fact, you've always been perfectly clear that anything else was purely in my imagination. Platonic shoulder holding, Jeff!"

"But…" He can't understand how she could have misunderstood this so badly. "Am I really that coolly enigmatic? If so, the fairytales have it right: wishes do come at a price. You really thought all the kissing lately was just about sex?"

"You kissed me before, and you weren't in love with me then," she points out. He can't quite meet her eyes. "Jeff," she says dangerously, "so help me, if you're going to say—"

"No, no! Not back then. I mean, I cared about you, of course I did, even if I was too scared to admit it out loud. It was just – it was unexpected." He realizes he means that in the larger sense, too. "I never expected this," he says, softly. "Any of it."

Somehow, he's at last said something that makes her smile. "Me either," she admits.

And then they're lying on the floor in his entryway, smiling at each other, and he's pretty sure they're having a Moment. He doesn't even care that they look like complete dorks.

His eyes drop to her lips, and okay, now seems like the ideal moment to kiss her again, but she hums and turns her head aside. "Could you please get off me? You're really heavy, and this floor is really hard, and I really want to move this discussion somewhere more comfortable." She gives him a heated look, and he feels his heart rate pick up. "Like, oh, to pick a random example, your bed."

She doesn't need to ask twice.

\---

::eleven::

She's pretty sure she never wants to leave this bed again in her entire life. They could arrange that, right? They could attend school on those remote-controlled tablet thingies they used for the criminals, and they could order takeout – of course, hygiene would become a problem… and ew, gross. Okay, she will get out of bed at some point. But… not for a while.

Besides, it's pretty early. His bedside clock reads 05:09, and the daylight sneaking through the crack in his blinds is pale and halfhearted. And Jeff is sound asleep.

She turns her head slightly so she can see him better. He's under the pillow rather than on it, and the duvet is piled up over his head, so all she can see is his pointy nose, a slash of straight, dark lashes, and a hint of designer stubble. He's ridiculously hot, in the temperature sense (...well, and in the other sense, too), and kind of heavy: in his sleep, he's wrapped an arm and a leg around her, so sneaking out of bed to go pee is going to be a problem. A surge of feelings wash through her, an oddly wistful sense of protectiveness that makes her eyes sting.

"This is exactly what I feared would happen," he mumbles, apparently awake after all. The low timbre of his voice sends a delicious shiver through her. He cracks an eye, and glares at her. "You're watching me sleep, aren't you?"

"Maybe," she giggles.

"Ugh. Chicks, man - SO sentimental," he groans.

"Well, if you want, I can call Abed, see if he'll swap places with me..."

"No! No." He clutches her closer, possessively. "He's too bony. You're much nicer and squashier." He buries his head against her breasts, and makes a satisfied sound. They lie there in silence for a while, Annie just relishing the giddy happiness she's currently experiencing. "Why are you even awake at this time? And bear in mind that if you don't say you're hot for my bod again, I'm going to think you're unnatural."

"I need to pee," she says, primly, "but SOMEONE is all wrapped around me like I'm his own personal teddy bear."

He moves back quickly, releasing her with unchivalrous speed. "Oh, well then, by all means—!"

When she's done, he follows her to the bathroom, and when he comes back, he's smelling minty fresh. "There's a toothbrush tax," he warns her. She'd used his, grinning at herself in the mirror the whole time. "It's really high." He dives back under the covers and gathers her close again, belying his cooler-than-thou attitude. He's practically smothering her... but she doesn't mind so much. "My toothbrush is too good to just casually share, you know."

"You're so selfish," she sighs happily.

"Mm," he agrees. "Totally." He nuzzles her neck. "Horribly." He kisses her shoulder, his hand sliding across her bare stomach, making her shiver. "I should probably be ashamed of myself."

"Don't get cocky," she says breathlessly, eyes closing. "I happen to like nice men."

"Yeah, but you love scoundrels," he responds.

She's losing the thread of the conversation. His hands are doing magical things, and her body is waking up to the idea that it wants him again (for the fourth time, she thinks, feeling smug on behalf of both of them), so that's only to be expected. "I'd just as soon kiss a wookie," she manages.

"I could arrange that," he assures her. He moves over her, settling comfortably between her legs, and braces himself on an arm so he can trail infuriatingly light kisses from her forehead, between her eyebrows, and down her nose. "You could use a good kiss," he says, his lips just brushing hers.

"Uh-huh." She has no idea what he's talking about right now. "Jeff? Shut the hell up."

"Make me, Annie."

Oh, it is so on.

\---

::twelve::

In the late morning sunlight, she plays an awesome mental game called 'Which Was My Favorite Orgasm?'. The first one had the benefit of being first, of course, and it was possibly the most wildly out of control and passionate. The second was much more sensual, though - he was really putting his back into making it an unforgettable experience, and Britta has clearly been talking crap, because the boy has got GAME. The third one was emotionally intense... there was something about the late hour, the feeling that they were the only two people awake in the world, alone in their own private island... she's never seen him let himself be so vulnerable, so honest. And the fourth one was the most fun, all sunlit and carefree, the one that gave her confidence that they could actually do this without ruining a wonderful friendship.

In the end, she decides it doesn't really matter.

"What are we going to tell the others?" she asks, as they lounge on his couch. They talked about going out for brunch, but in the end he made omelets ("Whole egg - I think I've earned it.") and coffee, and they stayed put. She's kind of hoping they can hole up here all weekend. She already told Abed and Britta that she'd be visiting a friend, in case her seduction plan went well, so they won't be suspicious. But they're going to catch on sometime - especially as Jeff can't keep his hands to himself.

"Well, I don't know what you were planning on telling them," he says, lazily toying with her hair, "but I was gonna say that you'd basically already planned the rest of our lives together, including our wedding and the names of our three kids, so I finally just gave in to the inevitable."

"Jeff!" She smacks him across the chest, annoyingly aware that she's blushing. Okay, so that might TECHNICALLY be true, but that was years ago and she's mostly stopped thinking like that. And she's going to totally ignore the underlying implication that he might be okay with those future plans, because that's way too much to think about right now. "If you say that, I'm going to tell them you cried when we did it," she threatens.

"I did not!"

"But they won't know that," she replies, smugly. "And who do you think they'll believe?" She gives him her best Disney eyes.

Suddenly he's tackling her to the cushions, kissing her madly. "Annie. Just when I think I couldn't love you any more, you go all evil on me," he murmurs. "When you take over the world someday, can I be your sex slave?"

"Aww," she coos. "That's so sweet!"

\---

::one::

She's been staring at his arms all evening. There's just something about them that's always worked for her – the large span of his hands, the lean, tanned muscles of his forearms, the warmth and solidity they exude…

Annie gives herself a little shake and tears her eyes away. What the hell is wrong with her tonight? It's not like anything is different. Sure, so he did that stupid little 'Milady' thing that he thinks is so charming and that she maybe fell for when she was a teenager but now she knows better – so what? And yes, okay, she let herself respond to it this time, but he was actually being really sweet and supportive, so she figures he deserved it. It doesn't mean anything.

He has been great lately, though. Sure, he's still Jeff, he's still got his hangups and obsessions, he still needs to be constantly admired and validated, and he's still almost completely self-centered (then again, who in her immediate friend group is not?) – but it just feels like he's mellowed a little. Or maybe it's because she's less desperate for his attention and approval, so there's just less pressure to their friendship. And tonight, when she was feeling really low and insecure after the thing with Chang, he completely turned her mood around and made her feel appreciated and loved. In a friend way. It's probably a platonic shoulder-to-lean-on she thinks, a little cynically.

…And she's staring at his arms again. What is WRONG with her?! Sure, they're nice, but generally she's an abs girl – which of course he has a nice set of, but they're not nearly as on display (although for a person she's never slept with, she's seen them pretty often and could probably pick them out of a line-up). So that's probably it – he's got nice arms, and she's admiring them. It's as simple as—

"Is there something on my arm?"

Annie jumps, her eyes flying to his. Damn, he's noticed! Quick, quick, lie… "Um, no, what, no – your arm?! Hahaha! What are you talking about? I'm not staring at your arms!" CRAP. She winces, and instinctively glances at Abed – the only other person currently at their table – expecting him to call her on her bullshit. But he stays quiet, and just gives her a look, and she remembers that talk they had about a year ago, and how she asked him to quit pointing out when she did the Jeff thing because it was never going anywhere and it made her heart ache a bit every time he called attention to it. And he'd not done it since, because Abed is a kind man and a good friend. But he does roll his eyes at her, just a little.

"Ohhhh…kay," says Jeff. "And I think that's the sign that you should go home. Want me to drive you?"

"No, no – I'm fine." He gives her a disbelieving look. "Really, I had one drink and then switched to water. It's just been a long day. Abed, you coming?"

"I'll stay here a bit longer," he says. "Jeff can drop me back later."

"Sure," says Jeff, equitably. "But I'm watching you, missy, and if I see you wobbling even the slightest bit—"

"I'm fine, DAD! You worry too much." She grins at him to show she's teasing, but the smile he returns is quiet and a little serious.

"I can't help but worry about you, Annie," he says. "You're very important to me."

There's a long, quiet moment between them. Then Abed shifts restlessly, and she's jolted out of it. They both look away.

"C'mon," says Jeff. "I'll walk you to your car."

\---

END.


End file.
